Till Death Do Us Never Part
by mng042197
Summary: There are consequences to every choice. This choice, however, was bigger than life, bigger than death. This was eternity. Can Michael offer Violet the future she wanted without Tate? Or will forgiveness come in time to save them both?
1. Afterlife

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Violet sat in the attic, like she did every day, reliving the short life which she had had in that world outside the third story window. It had been thirteen years ago to the day that she had taken the sleeping pills that would forever condemn her to this existence and she could still taste the salty tears that she had swallowed along with her choice weapon of suicide. Constance was long gone, along with Michael. They had moved on to a new place—something that Violet had never expected, but that she was happy with. She didn't like to be reminded, didn't liked to be constantly faced with the evidence of what Tate had done to her, _to them_. Everyone had moved on, in fact, all except for her.

Vivien and Ben had their baby. They had love and a million other things. They even had friends. Moira and Violet's mother had grown close over the years and, surprisingly, her father had come to enjoy the company of Travis and even the mad doctor. Theirs had become a happy existence, but not Violet's. She had not moved on. She had not changed, only perhaps became more jaded. She lived in the past and dwelt on things that she would never be able to change, choices that she had not made and choices that she had. The biggest choice was telling Tate to leave her alone, telling him to say goodbye.

She hadn't seen him once since that night when he had watched her through the glass door and she had begun to wonder if he hadn't faded away all together. Hayden had been with him then and that always bothered her, even when she knew that it shouldn't. She shouldn't care, because he had betrayed her in ways that were so despicable no one would even think to blame her for doing what she did, for getting rid of him. But love is strange. It doesn't just go away, Violet knew, and she couldn't ignore the idea that, maybe, Tate had found his own comfort in Hayden.

Violet's only comfort was her cigarettes and whatever sort of reading material she could manage to scrounge up. For some reason, she never seemed to completely run out of either and it made her curious to know if, perhaps, she hadn't conjured up some weird afterlife version of entertainment, all out of thin air. The cigarettes, her favorite kind, could always be found in the dresser drawer of whoever occupied her room, just where she had kept them when she was alive. The books would show up here and there—on the shelf, the bed, the desk in her father's old office.

Regardless of how she acquired these things, she needed them. They were the only stimulation she had, the only thing standing between her and complete lunacy. She had lost most of her mind, but her self-control was still firmly in place. She would not kill. She would not seek revenge and, above everything, she would never tempt the occupants of the house to grow too fond of her. She understood what that sort of love, that sort obsession, could do to someone. It was maddening and it was what had cost her her own life.

With a sigh, Violet finished off her last cigarette. She wondered why she could never seem to find a new pack when she needed it most, but she would be patient. Instead, she threw the empty container into the trash bin and closed her eyes, letting her body sink back onto the hard floor. Behind her lids, she saw images of all that she had lost, the things that she had loved most. She saw Tate, and it made her eyes prickle with tears. She could never forgive him, though she sometimes wondered if it would not have been best for her never to know the truth of what he had done to her mother. She could have been happy. They could have been happy. And then, maybe eternity wouldn't have been so bad. Maybe, she wouldn't have had to be alone. Because what if he had changed and it had simply come too late? If he had met her just a little bit earlier, if he had loved before Nora had tempted him, would things have been different for them? If she had been born earlier, if she had met him before he had died, would he have ever committed the sins that had condemned him to this place? Violet didn't know and she supposed that she never would.

Again, she lifted her head to look out the window. People walked by on the street, leading along their dogs and pushing their children in strollers. Violet knew that she would never have any of those things, but she still felt the oddest surge of hopefulness that, one day, she would grow into that life. She still felt human, still felt alive, and that was the biggest problem at all. It was only natural, she reasoned, to not want to let go. Because, once you let go of your humanity, what is left of you? What do you become? She thought you must turn into Nora or Charles or Hayden, that you must lose your mind and your heart in ways that are dangerous. Had Tate lost his too? Or had he never had one? Pressing questions, all of them, but there would never be a way of knowing for certain. She would always have to stay to the darkest corners of the house—the most tortured soul for the moment, adapt at keeping to herself—and watch to see what would happen, and wonder at it all and what it could and should have been.

In the meantime, Tate lurked in his own shadows, just watching her. He never let her see him, but he hoped that she knew that he was there. The idea of Violet always being this way pained him. He wanted to go to her, to comfort her, to embrace her and chase away all of the demons. But he was her demon and she would never forgive him. He didn't deserve forgiveness. Yet he hoped that, if he waited long enough, she would let him back into her life—or after life, whatever this was. Regardless of what it was, Tate knew one thing for certain. He did have a heart, and it was and would always be in the possession of Violet Harmon.


	2. Afterdeath

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

There would be a new family now, and everyone in the house waited with a sort of twisted expectation, wondering, almost too eager to see who the next tenants would be and how long they would stay. Sometimes, it took forever to scare people off. Some of them had come to the house for that very reason and some of them even enjoyed being frightened. Violet had never much taken to scaring off new life. She needed it, wanted it more than anything in the world. She wanted to watch them and to see them grow and change in ways that she never would.

The moving truck pulled up in front of the Murder House for what seemed to be the fifteenth time since the Harmons themselves had checked out. It had been twenty-five years now since that day when their lives had all officially came to an end and the house had spent a good deal of the time on the market. Violet sat in her old bedroom on the second floor where she spent most of her time and looked out the window, down at the minivan pulling into the driveway. There was a mother, a father, a little boy and a baby girl—fairly typical. She was bored by it. Absentmindedly, Violet found herself wandering towards the bathroom.

She'd died there, in that very bath tub, and she's taken to laying in it over the years, just to connect with her life in some way. She would pretend that she had woken up, that Tate had been able to save her, that she'd never died and neither had her parents. She would imagine that they were leaving, that they were walking out the door just as soon as she stood up from her place in that bathtub and walked down the stairs and out the front door. She would pretend that that moving truck in the driveway was for them, coming to cart away their things and take them far away to a new place and a new life.

Yet, Violet would always have to face the reality that she never would leave, that she would never move on and she would never have anything but what she had in that moment. She might as well never leave that bath tub, she thought. She could very well stay there for the rest of eternity, pretending and believing that if she thought about it long enough she would be able to will it into existence. Perhaps it was all a dream and she would wake up soon. Then, she could go back to Boston, to all of her friends and the house that she had loved and the thrift stores and the hipster coffee shops where she had spent hours reading Utopia in the booth in the back corner. And her mother never would have lost the baby and her father never would have brought Hayden into their lives.

But that would never be the truth and Violet knew it.

She cried out in agony, letting the floodgates give way to her tears. Her chest heaved and her heart seemed to pound—even though she knew that she didn't have one anymore, that it was dead, decayed and defiled on the farthest end of the dank, dark basement. Tate had abandoned her there and it had come to mean something to her, as though that was the very death of their love, of everything that they had together. Because nothing after that night was real at all, she tried to convince herself. Rather, it was all just an awful nightmare that she would never wake from.

"Don't cry, Violet." came a voice from behind her, strained and obviously filled with tears. "I hate it when you cry. I can't stand it."

Before she even turned to look, she knew it was Tate. And when she did look her suspicions were only confirmed. There he stood, his blonde curls messed hopelessly around his angel face, his dark eyes too sad for her to look into. He always seemed so genuine, so sorry, but she knew he was a liar. He had proved that to her. Once again, Violet reminded herself of all the reasons why they could never be together again, why she would never be happy and why he was doomed to watch her be miserable for the rest of eternity.

"It's your fault anyway." she hissed, her eyes flashing with age-old fury. She had been around too long now and the time she had spent in the house had changed her. She had always been spiteful and angry, but she had never hated him with such fervor. She'd never had that sort of perseverance. "You did this to me! Don't you see that, Tate?"

He sobbed out painfully, taking a step closer to the tub, extending one of his hands to touch her face. She swatted it away without a thought. It had become something of a habit: pushing him away. "Please don't say that, Vi. I never wanted this for you. I'm sorry."

But she had heard too many sorry's over the years and they had ceased to mean much to her. She couldn't forget the things that he had done. The idea made her sick, to think how he had touched her, what he had done, to imagine that all of their touches had been the same with Vivien, that her mother had felt them as well—it was too much to let go of. "Sorry isn't good enough!" She needed so much more. She needed a time machine. She needed a miracle.

"What can I do to make it better? Tell me, tell me right now and I'll do it…anything. I swear." The desperation in his voice would have broken her heart once, but she was immune to in these days. He'd become a broken record and she didn't want to admit the truth that she would listen to him all day if only she could find it in herself to forgive him his betrayals.

"I don't know, Tate. I just don't know." And then she spoke the words that she couldn't seem to stop saying. "Go. Away."


	3. New Life

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Author's Note: Thank you so much to all of my readers and thank you very much to all of the people who left reviews! This chapter, let's try to get at least ten…pretty, pretty please! Reviews make me happy and a happy writer means faster updates so the more you write the more I write. Thanks again and love you all!

Tate sat in the corner of the basement that had become his own over the years, just trying not to listen to the sound of Violet's voice as she wondered around the kitchen upstairs, talking with Moira and Vivien. He knew that he should leave her alone, that he shouldn't bother her anymore. He knew that she didn't want him and that she never would again but he couldn't help but hope. It was all he had to hold onto now, in this dark, empty place where no one would ever be able to rescue him or even reprieve him for a moment—only her, the one person in the world who would never raise a finger to save him again.

Slowly, he heard the door to the basement falling open. He didn't flinch. It was nothing, maybe Nora come to revisit one of the more horrific scenes from her previous life. She did that every once in a while, having become so lost in the afterlife that she couldn't possibly know the truth about anything anymore. She would wonder around the room where Charles had once worked, mumbling 'where's my baby?' and then she would hear the Harmon's baby screaming and she would smile and rush away. Tate would watch from a distance, reminded of the reasons that he had done all of those awful things. He had thought that Nora was a good woman, that she was sad and lonely and angry like him, but he was wrong. She didn't know what it was to be alive anymore and any idea she thought of was nothing more that desperate plays for a happiness that she would never have. He on the other hand felt almost too alive now, so alive that it was unbearable.

Footsteps fell lightly on the stairs and around the corner came bounding a little blonde boy. He somewhat resembled Tate at that age, not a day older than seven—all curly-q's, dimples and brown eyes. He smiled and stumbled through the dark, so close to Tate that he could feel him. He didn't know his name; he never paid those details any mind. But now he wished that he knew it, wished that he knew the little boy.

"Who are you?" asked the boy, seeing Tate for the first time. He had wanted to be seen, of course, even if he hadn't been able to admit it to himself.

"I'm Tate." He replied, offering his right hand for the child to shake. He smiled sadly and received a smile in return and, surprisingly, it felt nice. It felt better than anything he'd felt in a long time. For just a moment, he existed. "What's your name?"

"My name's Kyle. Do you live down here?"

Tate nodded. "I guess…kind of."

"Do Mommy and Daddy know about you? They've never said anything before."

Tate tried to think of an answer, sighing heavily as he gathered his words into a reasonable explanation that his new friend would understand. "You see, Kyle, I'm kind of a secret person…like a superhero, or a vampire." He told him with a laugh. "Only really special people can see me, like you. And your mommy and daddy are too grown up to believe that I'm here. They wouldn't be able to keep my secret."

With a conspiratorial look in his eyes, Kyle leaned in closer and whispered. "What's your secret? You can tell me. I can keep it, I promise."

"Well, I can disappear. And I can make things move all by themselves too. But I'm not the only one. There are lots of others here. They're secrets. We all are. We have to be to keep our powers." It was a silly story, but it made Kyle smile brightly.

"Where are all the others? Can I meet them too?"

Tate thought. And, as he always did, his thoughts immediately turned to Violet. He thought of how much she would love to see this little friend of his, how much she would love to know him and to be a part of the life that he lived so that she might share in it. He knew how she envied having children, the respect and the love that came with it—but she would never have that and it was his own fault. So, he made up his mind and tuned to stare deeply into the little boy's eyes. "Listen, there is one person who you might like to meet. She used to be a friend of mine, but we don't really talk much anymore. Her name is Violet, and if you go up to that purple bedroom on the right hand side of the hall and call out her name, she might come out to see what you need. Call 'Violet, Violet!' and maybe she'll show. But you have to do me one favor, since I told you the secrets."

Kyle's eyes grew just a little bit wider as he grinned, nodding his head quickly. "What? What do I need to do, Tate?"

A single tear fell from his eye as he spoke, hope blooming in his cold, empty chest. "Tell her that Tate loves her, and that he's sorry. Tell her that he really needs for her to forgive him. Tell her that he's changed, that he can be good now. Can you do that for me?" Kyle nodded. "Very good…now go one, go and find her and tell her just what I said, okay?"

"Okay."

And he was gone, leaving Tate alone in the dark to do more of what he always did: cry for the girl that he loved, the girl that he needed and wanted in his arms more than words could describe. She was his soul mate, and all he existed as was a soul anyways. What else was there but that? Only her beautiful face which he was certain he would never be able to kiss again. She was gone, for now if not forever.


	4. Stay Dead

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Violet sat in her bedroom with the window open, her hand hung outside as her fingers clutched greedily at another cigarette. It was her fifth one in a row and she had to admit that the calming effect was no longer there. She was dead. She had no body and no reactions to anything anymore. Anymore, she smoked out of habit, not because she craved the nicotine but because she just wanted to hold the thing between her fingers and puff at it with her lips. She felt more alive that way, as though nothing had changed.

The floor behind her creaked but she didn't turn to see who was there. They were alive; she could sense it, and she wouldn't let them see her because she didn't want to be seen. She liked to be invisible most of the time, to hide and wither away to nothing in the privacy of what had once been her home. Soon, she felt the presence so close that she had to fight the urge to look around. There was breath on her ghostly neck, yet she only raised the cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply.

Kyle stood there, looking around the room for some sign of life. He didn't understand where Tate had come from, but he had said that they were friends and that Violet could be his friend too. He'd never had many, so it seemed like a generous offer. A strange scent tickled his nose, but he couldn't find the source. The wind blew and he choked on the air, yet there was nothing there to choke on. "Hello?" he questioned meekly. "Is anyone there?"

Violet froze for a second, knowing now that it was the little boy. And he was looking for someone, but who? Had one of the ghosts befriended him? And, if so, how did he know that he should call out for them, that he should look around to find them wherever he pleased? Had it been one of the twins, or Nora perhaps? She didn't know and she wasn't sure she wanted to find out. But her curiosity got the best of her and spun around to watch the child as he searched.

"I met one of your friends. His name is Tate, he said." Kyle continued and Violet's mouth dropped open in shock. It wasn't like him to harass the children, not unless he had a reason and Violet usually didn't like it very much when he focused in on someone. It never lead to anything good. "He sent me to talk to you. He said you'd be my friend too. Violet? Is your name Violet?"

This time, when he addressed her, she couldn't ignore him. She let her guard down, let him see her in all of her deathly glory. "Yes, I'm Violet. What did he say to you?" She was afraid of what the answer might be, afraid of the ugly things she might hear. By now, she knew that Tate must have grown to hate her, or at least resent her. It had been too long and he should have been well finished with waiting.

But Kyle did not confirm these suspicions. "He told me that I should come find you. He said something else…that I should tell you something."

Hesitantly, she let herself ask. "What was that?"

"He said…let me think." And Kyle paused, straining his little mind to remember the words that Tate had told him to say to her. He'd said to repeat just what he'd said, but that was hard for anyone to do, let alone a seven year old boy. "He said that he loves you and that he is very sorry. And I think he said that you should forgive him and that he's different. He can be good now, I think he said. Yeah, that's it. He said he can be good."

Violet felt the bile rising in her throat, the tears coming to her eyes. She was too angry for words, appalled that he had sunken so low as to send this little boy to her, to endeavor for this child to elicit atonement from her lips on his behalf. She couldn't swallow, could barely even breath. Violet wanted to silence the little boy forever, just to show Tate how wrong he was. She wished that she could show him, that she could make him feel the pain that she had felt for all those years. She wanted to cut out his heart and make him eat it—yes, that would be very appropriate. She'd felt that way only a million times since that day when he'd broken her for the very last time, when he had made her permanently damaged,

eternally broken.

"He can never be good. He's a liar. Please, don't tell me anything else like this. It's…too painful. I can hardly feel anything…" It was the truth. All she felt was endless suffering, limitless regret. It never ended, but went on and on and on with no hopes of ever stopping.

Kyle's face fell as he thought through Violet's words. He didn't know what to think—nothing more than a little boy who didn't know any better than to believe that people were essentially good. He hadn't seen the darkness, hadn't spent enough time immersed within it to understand what it truly meant to be had by it. The darkness had had Violet for a long time now, and it didn't seem it would ever let go. Because she loved it too much, in a sick and impossibly unforgettable way. Tate was her captor, and he was a formidable foe. She had no desire to fight it, not inwardly at the very least.

All she wanted, really, was solitude.

"He wants to see you, I think. It would be better if he could tell you all of the thing she wants to tell you in person. I don't remember all that well anyhow. You should go find him. He's in the basement, I think. He seems sad. It's hard to look at, but I think it's because he misses you. Like I miss my dad when he goes on business trips, you know. Yeah, kind of like that only way worse. I heard him crying too, only I didn't know it was him. I hadn't met Tate yet. But he cries something awful for you."

Violet set her face in a mask that she wouldn't break, pulled Kyle to her body and hugged him. He was the first contact she'd had with the living in a long time, and it made her feel a little thrilled. "I cry for him too, but there is just too much, kid…I can't even begin to tell you how much there is." And a single tear fell down her cold, dead cheek; she wouldn't let another fall, not any time soon.


	5. A Fighting Chance

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Author's Note: R&R my lovely readers! And enjoy!

Violet and Kyle didn't speak much more after that and Tate refused to see anyone. After he had heard what she'd told the little boy, he had been in too much pain to face the facts. The girl he loved would hate him forever and there was absolutely nothing that he could do to change that fact. And Violet would spend the rest of eternity alone. Above all, this made his heart sink, made his stomach twist and turn with dread and hatred for his very own flesh.

She sat in what had been her bedroom before she'd died—what was now just a guest room—looking out the window at the world that she would never again be a part of. She wasn't paying much attention, only smoking away at her cigarette and watching vaguely through the panes of glass, when a flash of blonde curls caught her eye. They bounced up the walk, up the drive to the front door of the murder house. Violet listened, heard the clicking of a door knob as it turned. Footsteps sounded through the halls and she found herself moving away from the window and towards the door to her bedroom.

When it fell open, she came face to face with just the person who had been the cause of every nightmare she'd had since the day she had lost everything, the very day that she had said goodbye to her mother, her lover and the life that she had become so hopelessly immersed in. From that day on, she had had nothing.

"Michael. What are you doing here?" she asked, taking a step away from the boy with the dark eyes and the pale, angelic face. There was something about him that was unsettling to her, something that made her want to get away. He wasn't right, wasn't holy or even acceptable. He didn't belong and that fact was painfully obvious. But his smile was entrancing, too distracting for any good to come of it. "Tate isn't here. I don't think he'd like to see you…or my mom either, for that matter." At least, Violet hoped that they wouldn't want to see him, that they had established some strange familial bonds with the ungodly boy before her. He was thirteen now, but he was so much more than that.

"But I came to see you, Violet." Her hands clenched at her sides, bile rising in the back of her throat. She didn't want to see Michael, didn't want to speak to him. "I can feel your poor little lost soul all the way over there. Your very loud, Violet, even if you don't realize it. Anyway, I'm tired of hearing you crying in your dreams every night…all because of him, my stupid father. He never understood my potential anyways. That's beside the point. I want to help you. That's why I came here today."

Violet paused, swallowing hard. She didn't like to hear the word father coming from Michael's mouth, especially not in reference to Tate. She wanted to keep him sacred in her mind to a point, to be able to think of him fondly part of the time, since she couldn't think of him kindly always. She still wanted to love him, wanted to justify her love for him, but this was making it unbelievable hard.

"There's nothing you can do to help me, Michael. Thanks anyhow."

"Stop!" He shouted. "Don't you realize who I am? I have more power than you could ever dream of. I am the line between the living and the dead. I'm the crossing point. I can help you, Violet, if you'll just let me do it. And I'm asking for very little here."

She answered hesitantly. "And what's that?"

"All I ask is that you never see Tate again. Stay away from him forever and I'll give you just what you want…what you always hoped for deep in your heart of hearts. Do you know what that is? What I'm talking about?" She shook her head. "I can let you roam free. I can take away these boundaries, disconnect you from the house. You'll be able to go wherever you want, wander wherever you want to wander…except the Murder House, of course. You can have it all, be almost alive, just so long as you never come back to this place."

Violet thought, horror and confusion clear in her face. "Who are you?"

And with an evil glint in his eye, the boy replied, "I am what my father has made, the product of his and your mother's sins. I am the product of all sin, the keeper of it. And I can give you life. Remember that."

He left without a word, without a single indication as to what all this meant, but Violet knew. She could hear the words in her mind, replaying a scene from a whole other life time. "Do you believe in the devil?" she'd said. Violet had shaken her head no, but she wasn't sure that was the truth anymore. "I've looked into his eyes." she'd said, and now Violet had too. But she could have what she wanted and that mattered more than anything.

Slowly, her feet moved across the floor, carrying her down the hallway towards an unspecified destination. She didn't know where she was going, but she knew just what she was thinking. If she took the deal, if it worked, she would never be able to see Tate again. But she didn't see him now. Would it matter? She tried to tell herself that it made no difference but she couldn't escape the throbbing in her chest at the thought of losing the only boy who she had ever truly cared about. To never see his pitch black eyes, to never stare into their depths, to never run her hands through his messy blonde hair ever again seemed almost unimaginable. But he had betrayed her, and so none of that mattered. She stopped everything—even thinking—at the bottom of the attic stairs.

A hand rested on her shoulder and a voice came from behind her head. "Please, Violet, don't leave. We can be happy again. I know we can, if you just give me a chance." She slammed her eyes shut as rough, calloused hands turned her to face the speaker. She wouldn't look. She refused to. "Just kiss me. Please." And Tate leaned in to brush his lips against Violet's.


	6. No Surrenders

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Violet could feel his breath on her face as he inched closer and closer to her opened mouth. She tensed, resisted, but he wasn't having that. Desperation was clear in his demeanor, the way he moved, the way his hands tightly gripped the tops of her arms. He couldn't bear the thought of letting her go without a fight, and he wouldn't. Violet Harmon was everything, the whole world, the only thing in that filthy, God damn horror show of a place that had ever meant anything to him in his life—or in his death.

As he lips brushed against hers, she felt her resolve crumbling, slowly breaking down to weak and ravished rubble around her broken, nonliving heart. She could feel everything, as though this moment were far more real than any moment that had ever come before it, and she thought very seriously about forgiving him. Then, she remembered. "Tate, I can't…I can't do this."

With anger, he pulled her body flush with his. He was panicking, but what else could he do? She couldn't leave him, not now, not ever. He refused to let her leave him alone in that awful eternity. She was a part of it, and that was what had kept him sane over the years—well, as sane as Tate ever could be. "Damn it, Violet, look at me!" But she wouldn't. She kept her eyes tightly shut until he shook them open. "Violet, don't you love me anymore? You said you did, so love me! Please! I need you, Violet…I can't take this anymore!"

Slowly, she let her eye lids flutter open only to come into contact with crazed black eyes, boring deep into her soul. Tears ran down his cheeks and she watched, mesmerized, as his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat. She did love him. Oh, how she loved him; it was killing her to be without him, to have to live away from his touch and his embraces. But what else could she do? She couldn't forget. So, she told him. "I can't just forget what happened, Tate. It's too late for that."

"Then don't forget. I don't need you to forget. I know you'll never love me the same way. All I'm asking is that you forgive me…just enough for us to be happy. I need you to be here, Violet. I need you like I needed coke when I was alive. You're like a drug to me and being alone in this house is pushing me to the limit. Don't you feel anything when I touch you? Don't you want me, even in some little way? Any way at all?"

Violet looked into his eyes, thinking long and hard about the choice that she was about to make. She could feel every contour of his body against her own, feel the heat coming from his torso and enveloping her in such delicious warmth. She missed this, but it was hard to enjoy it. When she came to think of it, however, it had become hard to enjoy anything. And so she made up her mind then and there. She was tired of the misery, tired of never feeling anything but suffering. She could pretend to forget, pretend to forgive. She could pretend that they were the same—just Violet and Tate, two young people in love who wanted to spend the rest of eternity in each other's arms.

Slowly, she let her hand ghost down his stomach, just a bit lower until she felt something in her hand which made her eyes grow big. He smiled and pressed his lips feverishly to hers. This was all that he had ever wanted, all that he had ever dreamed about since the day that she had said goodbye to him for the very last time. And it would be the last time, he swore silently to himself.

He pulled her back into her bedroom and began to tug roughly at the buttons of her shirt, popping the blouse open one by one as they clattered to the floor. Her tights and skirt went next all in one swoop until she was entirely naked and wrapped tightly in his strong, sinful arms. A moan escaped her lips and he shivered. This was what happiness meant. This was what he had waited all those years for and it was far more than worth the suffering. When they came to the bed, Violet pulled away to pull his shirt up over his head, then to unbuckle his pants.

They'd waited far too long to reunite, they realized, as Tate thrust roughly into her, both of them letting out long keening sounds as they re-learned the ways in which their bodies connected. "I love you," she whispered in lieu of a quick and grunt-like "I'm sorry." They had been made for this, for each other. There had never been any other way, and Tate hoped that there never would be.

But Michael knew what was happening, how things were playing out, and he had other plans for the two of them, plans which would work to his own advantage. They couldn't stay together, because it was far too dangerous of a risk for him to take, and if Violet wouldn't give into his offer then he would find another way. They could destroy him and that just wouldn't do.

After all, the devil's work is never, ever done.


	7. Hit and Run

Disclaimer: I do not own American Horror Story.

Violet knew that she should feel guilty, feel like a traitor, but she simply couldn't. She felt too happy, too relieved. For the first time in a very long time she didn't feel alone and that was the biggest miracle of all. Yet, at the same time, lying there in Tate's arms, she also felt incredibly empty, like her heart was gone and dead and cold and she couldn't find it anywhere. It was the knowledge of what she had done, the reasons that she couldn't enjoy it, the truth behind it all, that made her cringe as he ran his hands down her delicate, bony shoulders.

Tate couldn't ever have been happier, he thought. He couldn't have imagined a more perfect moment in time, occupied by just the two of them. He couldn't stop thinking about what had just happened between him and Violet—the ways she had allowed him to touch her and how she had responded with sweet, soft moans, the way that she had touched him, eliciting from him the animalistic grows that he mostly kept hidden beneath an innocent, dimpled surface. They'd made love passionately, if making love is what it would be considered. But it was too rough for that, too needy and hurried. They had existed so long in separate worlds that their rejoining was hasty and desperate. Not that Tate minded. He could have her forever, and he would have her over and over again.

"Does this mean you love me again, Violet?" he asked, his voice broken and uncertain. All he wanted to hear was those three simple words ringing through his ears like the most glorious symphony, an angel's choir singing in his dead, devilish ears.

Violet paused, thinking long and hard. She knew that she did love him. She'd never stopped loving him, and would most likely love him for the rest of eternity. He was the one—the first and the last and the only man she had ever loved, the only man she had ever or would ever allow into her stone cold heart. He was like her, consumed by the darkness. Only he had been weaker; he hadn't been able to stop the voices inside his already damaged mind. The house had found him in just the right moment, and his violent nature had made him the embodiment of evil that it was looking for. So, yes, she did love him. But could she be with him? Could she stay with him? And finally, could she live with his demons?

"I do love you, Tate. I always loved you." She told him, grabbing his hand in her and running her thumb over the callouses which covered his palms. "I just don't know how to forgive you. I'm trying, because forever is a long time to be alone, especially when you have someone so close, who you want to be with so badly. I want you in ways that I don't understand, even after all of this time. It's like, I can't get away from you, from my feelings, no matter what I do and I hate it. I hate myself because I can't _not_ love you…even though I know you're a monster."

Tate nodded, thinking this over. She did love him, even if that love was conflicted. She cared about him and wanted to be near him. She didn't want to lose him and that meant everything to him. She was his Violet again, even if it wasn't quite the same, and he was her Tate. He could be good again. He could be sweet and tender and loving. He could make her feel happy again, and that was all he wanted anyway. He wanted nothing more than her happiness, even if that meant that he had to stay away from her forever. But he wouldn't. He could have her again and he could feel the sweet sensation of victory encompassing his body.

"I love you too, Violet." Tate told her, hugging her bare form close to his naked chest. The moment was so pure that, for just a second, Violet almost forgot the entirety of their troubles. Then, she remembered.

"Michael…he made me an offer, you know, to let me go free. I don't know what to say to him. The condition was that I never see you again, that I leave the murder house forever. But I guess you heard all of that. I don't know what to say. I don't know what to do…"

Tate felt his heart sinking. "You want to go, don't you? You want to take the deal." It wasn't a question, but Violet nodded anyway. "I understand of course." Tate continued. "I don't want to be stuck here for all eternity either. I understand that you want to be free. But I want you to know that I will miss you. Also, if you'd just consider that maybe Michael had some ulterior motive for helping you. I don't trust him. My mother told me what he was, what Billie Dean said he was. And I believe that crazy, crack pot psychic. I don't think Michael would help you unless he would benefit from it, and I don't want him benefitting from anything. He'd twice the monster I could ever be."

Suddenly, Violet through the covers back and moved to put her clothes back on. She was furious, and Tate could only imagine why. "You selfish bastard! You know, I might have stayed if you'd told me you wanted me to go, to be happy and free. But instead you try to manipulate me by preying on my fears, by trying to convince me that Michael is the damn antichrist? I could have a life again! I could be alive, Tate! Am I supposed to give up that chance for you?"

He'd said the wrong thing, he knew, but it was only the truth. Naturally, he didn't want her to leave, selfish as it was. He'd just gotten her back. And how could he ever let go of her so easily, knowing the agony that his existence was in her absence. To be damned to an eternity without hope would be unbearable. He might have to kill to pass the time until his own spawn destroyed the world for good.

"I want to be with you forever, Violet. If you leave, there will be nothing left for me. I'll be right back where I started. And what about your parents? I know they can be self-absorbed asses but they love you. Are you ready to say goodbye forever? This isn't some damn vacation from your problems, Violet. This is the rest of all the time that there is. You won't ever come home, won't rest, won't even have the dignity of being able to die. You will roam the Earth alone, forever. Everyone you meet will die and move on, but you never will, and the only people in this whole universe who will remain with you will be trapped in the one place where you can never be again. Is that the freedom that you're looking for? Because frankly, Vi, I don't see it."

There was a long silence between them as they stared into each other's eyes, glaring at black orbs and soft, brown irises with hatred and passion and hurt.

"Goodbye, Tate." She hissed, and slammed the door behind her as she left.


End file.
